


No Idea How Rare You Are

by MeghanAnna



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5789263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeghanAnna/pseuds/MeghanAnna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BFF Prompt: You should so do a bellarke fanfiction based off of the movie two night stand! (If you've seen the movie that is, it's on Netflix, I definitely recommend watching it)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Idea How Rare You Are

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from a quote in the movie!

For Clarke, committing to a one night stand is a big deal. She is a serial monogamist, through and through. And, that’s all fine and good until she ends up at the same bar as her ex-girlfriend.

It’s the first time they’ve seen each other since they graduated college. Lexa is in the middle of her first year at med school. Clarke, on the other hand, is living with her ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend and busy painting things no one will ever buy. She’s happy—for the most part—but she is officially living off of her trust fund, which is something she never planned on doing. Needless to say, she’s not proud of herself and neither is Lexa, and Raven is sick of working 12 hour days and coming home to find Clarke in the exact same spot she left her that morning.

She’s the one who convinces Clarke that she  _needs_ to get laid. And, okay, she’s not wrong. Clarke’s needed to get laid for a while, but living in front of the television or her easel makes it very difficult to meet people. She even made an online dating profile without even telling Raven, but as soon as she found out, Clarke felt drawn to use it even more. Raven and her best friend, Wells, are disgustingly happy together and Clarke is just… there.

So, after running into Lexa, she just decides to go home. She can’t hook up with anyone knowing Lexa is there, watching her—judging her. Lexa is  _really_ good at judging people, especially Clarke. Once she’s home, she turns on her laptop, looks at her matches—she isn’t quite sure how those are determined, but they are full of hot guys and girls, so she’s not complaining—and starts sifting through her prospects.

Almost immediately, she gets three messages in a row. One from a hard looking woman, a little older, who simply says, “Hi.” Another one from a douche who’s profile picture is just his bare chest (not even an attractive one) who asks to see her boobs. The last one is from a man, a few years older, too, with a mop of brown hair and a tan face, according to his profile picture—which is  _actually_ a picture of his profile. He just asks her how she was doing.

She closes the douche’s chat without responding and answers the other two. Both of their profiles say they are open to casual sex, among other things, so that’s a positive sign. Conversation is slow with the girl, though. She is set on giving one word answers, even though she’s the one who initiated the conversation. She’s nice, but she’s tough to get a read on. Clarke, instead, decides to focus on BellBlake89.

_ >> I’m okay. Tonight kind of sucked. How are you?  _

She thinks going for honesty will get her what she wants quicker than trying to be flirty and enticing.

_ >> Yeah, I know what you mean. Which is why I’m sitting home alone on a Friday night, drinking away my sorrows. _

_ >> Hey, me too!  _

(Which is a lie. She hasn’t had a drink since she took pre-game shots with Wells and Raven.)

_ >> Anything good? _

_ >> Nope. Just a Bud Light Lime. I’m kind of craving something a little more cocktail-y, but we ran out of vodka last week.  _

The Bud Light Lime is in her fridge, but she could go for a cocktail had they not run out of vodka.

_ >> I have vodka… _

And just like that, Clarke knows she’s in. She isn’t sure  _how_ , since they’ve barely spoken, but it is exactly what made her sign in to the dating site. She needs a hookup, she needs _this_ hookup. And he _is_ really attractive.

_ >> Do you know how to make a good drink? _

_ >> I do bartend on the weekends, so I can make pretty much anything you want. What are you in the mood for? _

_ >> Sex on the beach?  _

She rolls her eyes at her unsubtle mention of sex, but hey? If it gets the job done, she would be pleased.

_ >> I’ve got you covered. Would it be too forward to invite you over? _

_ >> Would it be too forward to say yes…? _

And that’s how Clarke Griffin ends up hurrying to the T to get to Cambridge. When she gets to Central Square, she follows the directions that her phone offers robotically through her headphones. Thankfully, this Bellamy guy only lives a few blocks from the T stop. The temperature has dropped considerably since she got home from the bar and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think snow was coming.

When he opens his door, her breath catches in her throat and her mouth drops open. He was hot in a tiny picture on her computer screen. But in person?  _Holy shit_.

“You want that drink now or later?” He asks and, instead of answering, she kisses him.

\--

Clarke wakes up the next morning with a bit of a start. Disoriented and unfamiliar with her surroundings. She turns to see the face she had been dreaming about just moments ago. Up close, in real life, it’s dusted with even more freckles than her subconscious remembered. He is unfairly beautiful and if she doesn’t stop  _staring_ at him, she’s going to fall in love with him. So, she gets dressed instead and tiptoes out of his room.

She tries to sneak out of his apartment but he actually has a security system. What kind of 20-something has a security system in their rented apartment? She obviously doesn’t know the code, so she runs back to his room and strips down to her long sleeved t-shirt and her underwear before climbing into bed, pretending to still be asleep.

Bellamy jolts awake when the alarm gets louder and looks just as disoriented as she feels before he flings himself out of bed and pulls out a baseball bat from behind the headboard. He looks back at her before leaving the room and she decides it’s the perfect time to get up for real and get dressed. This way it looks a lot less like sneaking out and more like,  _I can’t get back to sleep after that, I should head home_.

After he disarms the alarm, he comes back to his room while she’s pulling her jeans on for the second time that morning. “Breakfast?” He asks and she sighs, trying to make it sound like she’s sad she can’t stay instead of annoyed that he isn’t just letting her leave.

“I should go,” Clarke says through a tight, fake smile. “Thanks for last night. You really made my first one night stand… meaningful.”

He smirks at that and shrugs. “Oh yeah, I was your first,” Bellamy says, like he’s just _so_ proud, and she rolls her eyes. “Glad I could make it mean something, I guess.”

“You sure did,” she lies, moving past him. When she’s in the living room, she turns to see him following her, leaning shirtless against the kitchen wall. The sex was good—exceptional, really—but he’s much less charming in person than their brief interaction online made her believe he’d be. “I’ll, uh, see you around.”

“Probably not,” he reminds her and she laughs a little, pulling her hat out of her jacket pocket and putting it on. “Unless, next time you’re feeling down on yourself you want something familiar.”

“I wasn’t feeling down on myself,” Clarke says, staring at him. She had been, but she didn’t tell him that. Bellamy doesn’t get to insinuate that he knows anything about her. “I wanted to have sex, so I had sex.”

“So, when you were muttering that it was exactly what you needed and to fuck her, you really meant you just wanted to have sex? Nothing to do with an ex or anything like that?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. He’s still wearing that smug smirk that she thought was so attractive the night before.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lies again, narrowing her eyes and he holds his hands up in surrender. Then Bellamy laughs like he doesn’t believe her. “But I’m going to go.  _This_ was great. No wonder you were sitting home alone on a Friday night waiting for someone to take pity on you.”

“Yeah, right back at you,” he smiles and Clarke huffs out a breath before leaving. “Thanks for the sex, though.”

“Fuck you,” she calls behind her and before the door falls shut, she hears him remind her that she already did.

No matter how hot someone is, they don’t get to treat Clarke like shit. She went through that with Lexa and with Finn before her. It’s why she was taking a break from the serial monogamy thing in the first place. Being cheated on and treated like she was a child was enough for her. She thought casual sex-- one night stands, and random hookups were supposed to be easy and stress-free. She didn’t think they were supposed to make her feel like less of a person. _Again_.

She tries barreling out of his building, but can’t actually open the door, like, not even an inch. She steps onto her toes to looks out the window and sees that there are feet of snow on the sidewalks and the streets and that it’s still falling fast.

“Fuck,” she groans, crossing her arms across her chest and falling back against the door. She closes her eyes and counts to ten. When she opens them again, Bellamy is walking down the stairs, oblivious to her, talking to someone on the phone.

“No, Miller, I only did this because you told me to,” he’s saying. “She was a fucking nightmare. I deleted my profile. Fuck this.”

When he takes the last step and looks over at the door, his mouth falls open and he clamps it shut quickly. “I’ll talk to you later,” he says into the phone, stuffing it back into his pocket. “What are you doing?”

“Snow,” she says dryly and he rolls his eyes, walking toward her. He waves his hand, silently telling her to move aside, so she does. “You won’t get it open.”

“Watch me,” he challenges and she smiles right before he tries pushing the door open. It doesn’t budge. She keeps smiling until she realizes what it means. “Well, this blows.”

“I need to get back to the city, Bellamy,” she tells him and he shrugs, walking past her to check his mail. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

He considers her over his shoulder and rolls his eyes before turning back to his mailbox. “ _I guess_ you’re supposed to come upstairs and wait for it to die down in my apartment,” he offers and she grunts in frustration. So much for a stress-free hookup and an easy getaway.

\--

Bellamy sits on his couch, watching the weatherman go on and on about how bad the storm is and will remain. Clarke sits on the edge of his bed, behind closed doors, begging Raven for help over the phone.

“You have to help me get out of here,” she says for what has to be the fifth time in three minutes. “I can’t stay here. He’s _terrible_.”

“Clarke, the city is on lockdown. All of the roads are closed. You’re not getting out of there anytime soon,” Raven tells her and she sighs, flopping back on the bed. After a pause, Raven asks, “Does that mean the sex was terrible?”

“No,” Clarke sighs. She hates to admit that to even herself, even more to Raven since she’s been complaining about him nonstop already. “It was good. But he… he’s an ass. He wanted nothing to do with me after we had sex. He was asleep in seconds. Completely on the other side of the bed.”

“Well, it was supposed to be a one night stand,” Raven reminds her softly. “I don’t think he anticipated the snow to be this bad.”

“Can you please just help me get out of here?” she whines and Raven laughs. “Oh! I’ll call Monty! His boyfriend is a cop. He can get me out of here.”

“I thought you were convinced Monty’s boyfriend hated you? You’re always say--“

Clarke blinks at the sudden end to the phone call. And when she pulls the phone away from her face, she sees her phone is dead.

“No! Noooo!” She cries—yells, really. She’s muttering under her breath about how much the world hates her with her arm over her eyes when Bellamy comes busting into the room.

“Is everything okay? Are you alright?” He asks, a little frantically, and Clarke slowly removes the arm from her face and sits up.

“I’m fine.” She’s being short with him, which, okay, is unnecessary. It isn’t his fault the snow won’t stop or that her friends aren’t superheroes. “Actually,” she sighs, running her hand through her hair. “I’ll take that breakfast now, if the offer’s still on the table.”

“Pancakes okay?” he asks and she nods, smiling just a little. “Come on.”

She follows him to the kitchen and sits down at his little table while he gets everything he needs to cook ready. She watches him and can see the muscles of his back straining through his t-shirt when he reaches into his cabinet to grab a mixing bowl. Her mouth waters, but she’s sure it’s because she’s thirsty. It has nothing to do with those muscles or that back.

\--

Bellamy could make pancakes. And he was pretty good at Mario Kart. He sucks, however, at making conversation that lasts more than three sentences. He doesn’t want her there, in his house, obviously. But it’s not like she wants to be there either. She’s asking him questions, trying to make however long they’re stuck together go by as normally as possible. He’s the one making it uncomfortable and awkward.

“Dude,” she says finally and he looks up from his phone. “Can we not sit in silence for, like, ten minutes?”

“What’s wrong with silence?” he asks, looking at his phone again. She wants to throw it in his toilet.

“Silence is fine, don’t get me wrong, but we’re stuck here—together—for the foreseeable future. Can we please be civil?”

At that, he puts his phone on the couch and turns to look at her. “Do you want that drink?” He asks and she is immediately confused. “The one you came over for? I’m much more likely to be civil when I’m drinking.”

“It’s not even noon,” she says and he shrugs. She has to admit, it isn’t the worst idea. “Yeah, okay, I’ll take that drink.”

He leaves her in the living room to make them both drinks and he comes back with hers fully outfitted—fancy glass, colorful straw, even a cute, pink umbrella. She can’t help but smile when he hands it to her and he smiles back before sitting on the floor with his back against the couch. She slides down to sit next to him and they clink their glasses together before taking large sips.

Conversation comes pretty easily after that, for whatever reason. He starts off by telling her what he does for a living and how much he hates his job at the bank. He’s taking classes, trying to finish his bachelor’s degree once and for all, and working fulltime at a bank and part time at a bar in Somerville. She tells him about how she decided in the final hour of her undergrad career that med school just wasn’t for her, so she graduated with a degree in biology she never plans on using. He asks what it is she’s doing and she tells him the truth, saying she’s looking for work to hold her over until she figures out what she could do with an aptitude for art and no corresponding degree.

She expects him to grouse and ask how she’s supporting herself, but he doesn’t. That’s good because Clarke can tell he’d look down on her if she admitted she was living off the money her father left her when he died instead of actually working to support her lifestyle. Hell, she looks down on herself. She expects it from everyone else, too. Instead, though, he just nods and takes another long drink from his straw.

They’re silent again, but it isn’t as uncomfortable as before. “So, what brought you to OKCupid last night?” she finally asks him. He groans and hides his face in his hands, making her laugh. “Come on, you can tell me. It’s not like I’m one to judge.”

“I had a bad night and, you know, I’ve been single for a while,” he admits, lowering his hands and letting out a sigh. “And there are certain people in my life who believe the internet is the place to find suitable one night stands.”

“You don’t agree?” She asks and he looks at her sideways, smirking a little. “I mean, I know it didn’t work out _great_ for us, but the sex wasn’t bad.”

“No,” he agrees easily. “The sex was good.”

She flushes a little under his hooded gaze. She’s weak. He’s gorgeous. “Not bad,” she said again, smiling and he laughs, looking down at the drink in his hand.

They fall into another silent lapse and she can’t keep from looking over at him every once in awhile. Two or three times, he’s already looking at her. Eventually, Bellamy nudges her shoulder with his and she turns to look at him. “So, you weren’t feeling down on yourself? Just wanted to have sex?” he asks.

Clarke groans and rests her head back on the cushion behind her. She lets it fall to the side so she can look at him and he rests his head back and turns it toward hers. They’re close, but it actually makes her more comfortable, more confident.

“I ran into my ex-girlfriend last night. We were on the same pre-med track, you know? And she wasn’t too happy when I decided I wasn’t going to med school. She thinks art is a waste of my life,” she tells him and he closes his eyes in frustration, like he’s the one Lexa is offending.

“Sounds like a real winner,” he tells her and she smiles.

“We’re not to meant to be, but that doesn’t make it any easier. She’s _very_ happy in medical school and she was even happier to tell me all about it,” she explains and he nods. “I just really want to figure out what I’m doing with my life.”

“You and me both,” he says with a roll of his eyes. She smiles a little sadly at him and he shrugs, sitting up. “One more?”

“Please.”

He takes their empty glasses and disappears into the kitchen. She can hear him moving around and swearing under his breath. When he comes back, he slides back onto the floor, much closer than before so their shoulders are touching. Clarke ignores the spark she feels through the layers of their shirts, but smiles when she takes a sip of her drink. It tastes even better than the first one.

\--

“Somebody named Octavia won’t stop calling you,” Clarke tells him much later that day. He’s on one end of the couch and she’s lying across the rest of it, her toes squished against his thighs and every so often, his hand falls onto her knee until he realizes what he’s doing. His phone is on the table next to the arm of the couch where Clarke’s head is resting, so he leans over her to shut it off completely and she hopes he can’t feel her heart beating against her chest.

“Girlfriend?” She asks while he’s moving back onto his side of the couch and he stops, looking down at her. “Just asking.”

“I wouldn’t have slept with you if she were,” he promises and she nods. She appreciates that. She’s been the other woman before. It’s not fun. He stays above her for another second, looking down her face to her lips and she can feel her cheeks redden before he finally sits down. This time when his hand curls around her knee, she’s sure it’s on purpose. “It’s not important.”

“If you say so,” she says skeptically and he smiles at her enough to convince her. She smiles back, but quickly turns her head to look at the television. They’re still watching the weather and she can’t believe that there’s still no end in sight for the storm. Twenty-four hours ago they weren’t even expecting snow, now it won’t stop. “I think I should move someplace warmer, maybe even tropical.”

“Like where?” he asks, tapping his long fingers against her thigh.

“I don’t know,” she tells him, wiggling her toes in response. His other hand reaches over his lap and circles one of her ankles while he looks at her in warning. “Oh my god. Are you ticklish?”

She’s trying to keep the smile off her face, but she just can’t. She sits up and Bellamy bolts off of the couch so fast he nearly falls on his ass. “Don’t even think about it, Clarke,” he warns and she smiles, getting off of the couch slowly. He backs away just as slowly, but she corners him next to the TV.

She doesn’t touch him, but she can _feel_ how tense he is from her just standing in front of him. “I don’t remember you being ticklish last night,” she tells him and he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I mean, my hands were _everywhere_ and you didn’t laugh once.”

She’s being bold, reminding him about their time in bed, but she doesn’t really care. The more time she’s stuck with him, the less annoying he is and the more she actually likes him.

“Your _hands_ were all over me,” he agrees, “but your fingers weren’t attacking me.”

She raises her hands slowly and he tries to push himself even closer to the wall, but it’s impossible at this point. She wiggles her fingers in front of his face and his hands grip her hips firmly, as if _that_ will stop her. It does, actually. She’s weak. Instead of tickling him, she grabs his face and pulls it down to kiss it. His hands splay over her back and pull her against his chest.

She’s not sure _why_ she did it, exactly, but she remembers the way he looked at her lips on the couch. She remembered how good of a kisser he was the night before. “We probably shouldn’t do this again,” she says when he pulls away to kiss down her neck and she feels him chuckle against her before he pulls back and looks in her eyes. His are blown out and so black, his lips swollen, his hair a mess from where her fingers were tangled.

“Okay,” he breathes, but neither of them lets the other go.

“Or maybe we should,” she laughs and he smiles before kissing her and leading her back toward his bedroom.

\--

When Clarke slides off of him and he rolls over, she almost gets up and gets dressed. She doesn’t need to be held for an excessive amount of time, but she’d like to feel like she’s worth more than just a good fuck. When he just tosses the condom in the trash and turns around to reach for her, though, she smiles and curls around his chest. He presses a kiss to her hair and then rests his cheek against the top of her head.

“That was unexpected,” she says and she can feel him laugh.

“Yeah, one night stands don’t usually last this long,” he tells her and she sighs, throwing a leg across both of his.

“That sucks for everyone else.”

“They don’t know what they’re missing,” he agrees. She flushes a little, hiding her face against his chest. She wasn’t supposed to _like_ him. She was supposed to bang him and make a clean break. She was supposed to forget about him and his stupid (beautiful) face.

When his stomach rumbles, they both laugh and she rolls off of him. “If it helps, I’m _starving,_ ” she tells him and he smiles before climbing out of bed.

He gets dressed quickly, just pulling on a pair of sweatpants. “I’ll be right back,” he promises and she nods.

When he’s gone, she pulls on her underwear and her long sleeved t-shirt. She crosses her arms, cold without Bellamy nearby, and looks out the window. The sun has gone down and the snow has slowed considerably. She walks closer and peers down at the street from Bellamy’s fifth floor apartment. There’re plows on the road _finally_ and Clarke feels the magic of being trapped dissipate. She can leave anytime she wants, or anytime Bellamy wants her to.

She leaves the window, pretends the snow is still falling hard and fast, and sits back on his bed. His comforter is worn in and manly, thick gray and black stripes. His bed is comfortable and warm and if she had her way, at that moment, she’d never leave it.

When he comes back in, he’s carrying two plates with grilled cheese sandwiches on them. “Oh my god,” she sighs, moving onto her knees to take one from him. “You’re officially my favorite person ever.”

“Grilled cheese on a snowy day is the best,” he says, sitting down next to her. They eat in silence, their feet tangled together above the covers. It’s nice, just _being_.

When they’re done eating, he starts to take the paper plate out of her hand, but she stops him and takes his instead. “You cooked, I’ll clean,” she says and he laughs, but lets her go. She hurries out of the room and tosses the plates into the garbage.

The television is still on from when they were watching the weather, so she shuts it off. But before she reaches Bellamy’s room, she hears a key in the lock. Bellamy hears it, too, and comes out with his baseball bat just when the door opens.

When she looks from Bellamy in his sweats and bare chest back to the door and the intruder, she balks a little. It’s one of the prettiest girls she’s ever seen, all long brown hair and huge eyes; even the scowl on her face is gorgeous. Her damn jaw could cut glass.

“You fucking asshole,” she yells and Clarke scampers past Bellamy into his bedroom once she remembers she doesn’t have any pants on. She also tries very, _very_ hard not to cry. Women don’t just bust into a man’s apartment if they’re not dating them, or at least sleeping with them. That feeling she remembers from her days with Finn—after she found out about Raven—comes back and her chest feels like it’s going to cave in.

She gets dressed as quickly as possible, listening to the two screaming at each other in the living room. The girl—Octavia, she’s assuming—does most of the yelling. Every time Bellamy tries to yell back, she just cuts him off. She’s talking about Bellamy making a fool out of her and even more out of himself, how much of an ass he is and always has been. She tunes them out and finally slips into her boots and jacket.

She slips past them still yelling and gets out of the apartment before Bellamy is able to call after her. She ignores it when he does, though, and runs down the four flights of stairs and out the door. Thankfully, the sidewalks are shoveled (to some extent) and she’s able to make it around the corner before she hears Bellamy calling after her again. There’s no way he was able to get a shirt on, let alone shoes and a jacket, so she knows he can’t follow her too far. She runs to the T and prays it comes quickly.

\--

The T does _not_ come quickly and she thinks she should go back above ground and walk back to Boston. It’s not _that_ long of a walk. She’d do it without question in the spring or the summer, but after a massive snowstorm that left three feet of snow on the ground, she’s not so sure. She’s standing near the stairs, trying to make up her mind, when Bellamy barrels down with what looks like the beginning of a black eye.

“Leave me alone,” she says, backing away. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, but he doesn’t leave.

“It’s not what you think,” he says slowly, trying to catch his breath, and she rolls her eyes. Of course it’s what she thinks. She’s been through it before, to a much worse, larger extent. “Seriously, Clarke. She’s my _sister._ ”

Okay, _that_ wasn’t what she thought. Not at all. “Your sister?” she asks slowly and he nods, taking a couple of steps toward her. She doesn’t move away anymore, but she doesn’t get any closer.

“I got into a fight with her boyfriend on Friday, before you came over,” he explains. She crosses her arms and waits for him to continue. “I broke his nose. She didn’t find out about it until after it happened. It’s why she was calling me all day, so she could yell at me. It’s why I didn’t answer. I didn’t lie to you.”

“Okay.” She considers his story, but the more she thinks of the girl’s face, the more she sees the resemblance. They have the same jaw, the same dark hair. It makes sense. “How’d you know I’d still be here? The T should have gotten here ten minutes ago.”

“After Octavia punched me, she told me I should go after you because the city is still technically on lockdown,” he explains and she nods.

“At least she didn’t break _your_ nose,” Clarke scoffs and Bellamy smiles.

“I told her to punch me,” he admits. “You know? I don’t like Lincoln because, according to Octavia, I’m an overprotective ass, but he didn’t deserve to be punched. I didn’t even think I had it in me to break someone’s nose. I feel kind of powerful.”

“You sound like a dick,” she says and he shrugs, laughing. “You should go put ice on that.”

“You should come with me,” he says gently and she sighs. She wants to. She likes him. But she didn’t want that to happen. And now she has the out she’s been looking for since that morning. “I don’t want you to go. I’ll walk you home later, when it’s safer.”

“Who says I’m safe with you? I don’t even know you,” she reminds him. Bellamy sighs and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t even know you had a sister. I thought she was your girlfriend.”

“I wasn’t exactly looking for a reason to tell the girl I’m starting to like that I was fighting with my little sister because I’m an ass,” he tells her. “I wanted to seem like a prize, not an idiot.”

“Well, you are an idiot,” she tells him. He nods like he knows it’s true and she smiles. “Do you have hot chocolate?” She asks finally and he smiles larger than she’s seen him do in the 24 hours they’ve been spending together.

“I do,” he promises and she sighs, rolling her eyes to herself. When he holds out his gloved hand, she hesitates before lacing her fingers with his.


End file.
